


Tales from Gotham

by justsimplymeagain



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:19:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsimplymeagain/pseuds/justsimplymeagain
Summary: Here lies prompts and drabbles.Warning: Some Drabbles will have Mature subject matter.





	1. Jim Has a Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to upload all of my drabbles to AO3 because I enjoy writing them and I don’t want to keep searching my Drabble tag to find all of them if needed. 
> 
> Some will deal with pairings and some won't.

He was horrible, something wrong. Horrendous. Twisted and only a ghost of who he used to be. Sitting in his bathroom, bloodied and feeling like he was going to burst at the seams all because he couldn’t do what he wanted.

Couldn’t slip the moral code he tries so hard to uphold.

Couldn’t let go and -

\- just. pull. the. trigger.

He was a freak. A monster with a badge. Jim hated himself during times like this. They came more often than not, especially after Tetch and the madness Gotham seemed to fall into. No – jump into. Maybe even doing somersaults now.

What a bitter image. Made Jim wonder why he even bothered anymore. Wondered if things would have been different if he wasn’t so wrong towards the one person who could have probably helped him walk this path a little more steadily than even Harvey would have been able to.

Maybe things wouldn’t have gone so wrong? If he compromised and relented instead of trying to hold an image and try to force everything else to conform to it as well?

There was a knock on the door.

Jim ignored it.

The knock didn’t come again, instead, his door opened. Door hinges creaked and the floorboards groaned under uneven steps accompanied by the click of a cane.

Oswald Cobblepot – better known these days as The Penguin. But Jim would always remember him as Oswald. The friend he shouldn’t have rebuffed when that friendship was offered. Better to walk with a friend in the dark after all.

For a moment as a shadow stretched across his bathroom – Jim imagined a scenario where Oswald held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. For all the lines he’s crossed. And the fucked up thing, it was a sweet thought to have in a mood like this.

Jim didn’t look up, didn’t greet Oswald. Didn’t do anything but sit on the edge of his tub. Body sore and feeling like he could let go and release all the pent-up energy held in his tense body.

A soft firm command – stand up. Softer than it should be – softer than he deserved. But compelled to obey, Jim found himself on his feet – uneasy but waiting. Staring straight at Oswald. The man was beautiful, Jim wasn’t one to pick up on that often if at all – but he couldn’t deny it. Three piece suit worn as armour, hair tamed and wild and not a single thing out of place. Self-made Royalty.

It was Oswald who moved first, sure steps and sure movements as he wordlessly stripped Jim of his shame and bloodied clothing. And Jim, he was powerless to resist even as it left him completely bare in front of the man. Jim felt like a puppet as Oswald took the bloodied clothing and rolled it into a tightly contained ball leaving the bathroom with a parting command of take a shower.

Jim obeyed.

So willingly it nearly felt like an out-of-body experience. But obey he did, showered and watched as the red turned to pink turn to clear water. His body felt looser by the time he came out, the smell of coffee spread through the apartment. Towel around his waste Jim looked to see if anyone else had accompanied Oswald.

There was no one here.

It would be so easy to do it – to end the man who sat at his table waiting like sitting in Jim Gordon’s apartment was the most natural thing to do.

“It’s been a rough week, old friend.” A statement, a question underneath – _is it still worth it?_

“I’ll say.” Robotic response dressed as normal. Jim wanted to say; _no, yes – he didn’t know on days like these._ When the bad outweighed the good and the temptation to let go and let himself go is so incredibly tantalizing.

Jim was invited to sit, so he sat. Towel around his waist and rain falling outside this apartment. There was a bag near his door. He knows his bloodied clothing was in it.

Sharing a coffee with the Kingpin of Gotham was a surreal thing, especially when it was in your own apartment. How far they came, how high Oswald had risen and how far Jim had fallen.

And nobody seemed to notice – not with Jim anyway.

“It’s okay Jim, I understand. Better than most.” Oswald reassured and Jim felt his throat go tight and tears start to swell. He couldn’t bear to look up. Shame and anger and he wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair. Jim tried to distract himself with holding onto the coffee cup that spread heat through his hands.

Gloved hands covered his, filling Jim with enough bravery to look up and yes –

Oswald did understand. Better than most. And one day, maybe one day he could walk with his friend in that dark.

 

* * *

 

 

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	2. An Itch Scratched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gobblepot

_“Please, Mister Gordon. Just let me live…”_

Jim remembered a time when those words were frantically spoken to him. All wrapped up in a plea for life, no doubt betting on a good nature Oswald wasn’t entirely sure on but hoping for. A better nature that Jim wasn’t always sure was fully present anymore. But – this was Gotham. You either adapt to her or you wind up killed or jailed or chased out of town.

Jim changed.

He was stronger. More jaded. Corrupted. But a good man for the most part. The line in the sand wasn’t always clear.

But – this was Gotham.

_…I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll be your slave for life.”_

Dangerous thing, to promise or try to bribe someone with. If Jim wasn’t the person Oswald was hoping for – he might have taken the deceivingly defenceless man on his offer. But Jim was – and knowing what he knows now. How everything changed with him, with Oswald. Jim could say for certain, slave was a word that would never fit the smaller man. He was far too big and charismatic and cunning to fit in such a demeaning role.

Not even in the bedroom did this fit him.

Oswald was powerful.

Cunning.

Dangerous.

But when the wind blows right, merciful.

He was merciful tonight. Merciful for Jim as he went and fell to his knees before the King. A need was present – a need to forget, to let go and just be. And Oswald – the ever cunning cruel merciful King that he can be – gives Jim what he needs on nights like these. When energy is wound too tight and hunger curls in him that just wouldn’t go away.

Oswald stood tall before him – above him. Hand extended and cupping Jim’s chin. Gentle. A curl in Oswald’s lips was a promise for more.

“Always for an Old Friend.”

Mercy would be given tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

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	3. “Gotham doesn’t have straight lines...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by the ever talented writer: Greenfairy13 via Tumblr

_“Gotham doesn’t have straight lines, it’s got twists and turns and dead ends.”_

Harvey remembered saying those very words to Jim once, and he meant it then and he means it now. This was Gotham, it was how things were run here. How they worked. Those words were practically the lifeblood of the city.

Jim saw the light to that, it took a while – but he did. And a part of Harvey wants to weep for it, a part of him felt less alone and happy to have a friend to stand by, and another part wants to beat the shit out of Jim because really his way of seeing the light was not what Harvey would approve of.

The man was borderline a killer himself. Only Harvey thinks that Jim didn’t see that. Tetch virus or not – he knows the man had blood on his hands and now seemed to have the temper and skills to go through with doing what had to be done. He never does – as far as Harvey knew but it was there.

Harvey will never rat on him though. And he prays there will never be a day he has to put handcuffs on his friend.

Harvey thinks he might not survive that day…

Pulling himself back to reality, the here and now – he watched Jim interact with Penguin. At this, Harvey had to restrain himself from taking a swig from his flask. They were getting in each others face again, Harvey wondered if they understood the meaning of personal space. Watching the Penguin practically stab Jim in the chest with his finger he confirmed that they didn’t seem to.

If he was drunker – he’d tell them to just kiss and get over themselves already. But as it were, Harvey doubted it would ever happen. Instead, he waited until he had enough and got involved enough to get what they wanted and left to go finish the case they were on.

For putting up with today’s bullshit – Jim owed him a drink. And not just a shot.

 

* * *

 

 

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	4. “We are who we are, right? No use fighting it.”

_“We are who we are, right? No use fighting it.”_

Harvey remembered saying those words once, and looking back at his own history he knows that if that was any indication. He was at the core a dirty cop and a weak man. He was sure of it, but sometimes – sometimes he had moments where he doubted himself in this regard.

Especially days when he managed to save that one person. Or when someone goes out of their way to be kind to him. It makes him believe that ‘dirty cop’ and 'weak man’ wasn’t the only things he was.

It was enough to keep him moving forward.

Bad days were aplenty, where he truly was that weak man and that dirty cop.

He dived deep into the bottle those days. Tried to drown the truth then.

Today was a bad day. Two cops dead and three more injured. So Harvey found himself in the local pub slumped against a table and watching the bubbles in his beer. Completely and hopelessly miserable. It wasn’t until the bartender and waitresses were cleaning up that he felt a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Come on.”

Looking up, it was Jim. Harvey looked for judgment, resentment that he believed he deserved and found none. There was nothing but a quiet understanding and more important – mercy.

It took a while but he found himself with an arm slung over Jim’s shoulder and the man practically hauling him out of the pub.

The next day he expected to wake up in his home, alone and with his new cats. But he wasn’t – he found himself on the couch at Jim’s. A glass of water and a bottle of extra strength Tylenol. It was enough to make him feel so incredibly grateful to have a friend, he didn’t know what he did to deserve that. But he’ll take that friendship and keep it for as long as a guy like him could.

 

* * *

 

 

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	5. A Conversation with Gertrude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was requested by not-a-princess-but-a-queen on Tumblr.

Jim hated to have to be the one to go back to the Lounge, formally owned by one Fish Mooney, but Harvey refused to set foot in that place due to memories and apparently he was the only one that Oswald would tolerate enough to help. Use the man’s starstruck behaviour as Harvey told him. And Jim, he was well aware that he could get almost anything out of Oswald within reason. And that was partially why he felt a twinge of guilt, because how long before that comes back to bite him and how long could Jim go on being a piece of shit essentially?

But, here he was – standing in the front of the place and no Oswald in site. Some of his men, large and near threatening ambling about. Squaring his shoulders he entered further, ready to demand where Oswald was. If he had to.

“Oh! The nice man from before.” A woman said – quickly identified as none other than one Gertrud Kapelput. Oswald’s mother. Why on earth would he allow his mother to hang out in a place like this was anyone’s guess. Given the kind of men who were here. But Jim pushed that aside and put a smile on as the woman approached him.

“Mrs. Kapelput.” Jim greeted, one of the rather large men seemed panicked the moment she approached Jim. But could do nothing as she was standing right next to Jim now if he saw correctly she may have given him a once over. Pushing that aside he put on his best friendly expression because regardless of the people here and her son’s activities, this woman herself was innocent.

“What brings you to my son’s beautiful bar. So successful he is, my wonderful son.” Gertrude happily said, showing the place off animatedly, Jim could see where Oswald gets some of his movements from.

But what does he say to her, she clearly was under the impression that this was something her son got legally and absolutely blinded to her son’s activities. Still, seeing her so ecstatic Jim couldn’t really shatter that for her. So he just smiled.

His face was starting to hurt a bit.

“I was actually hoping to be able to speak with Oswald.” Jim stated, dropping his smile, for the most part, still trying to look as friendly as he could so he didn’t upset her. She eyed him with suspicion all the same, especially his badge.

“What for?” Her tone despite the happy tone from before was suspicious.

“Uh… a case? He might have had a suspect come to his bar.” Jim said, not 100% accurate but Oswald would be aware of this person due to the kind of life he led.

“Why ask my son?” Gertrude pushed, suddenly reminding Jim that although she was happy and carefree she was still a mother and a protective one at that.

“Well, because Oswald is smart. He and I worked together before, we did a good job together.” Jim wasn’t really stretching the truth too much here. But it was still iffy on whether or not this was 100% accurate.

“My son is a good boy, but I keep telling him that he can’t trust the police. Police are liars.” Gertrude stated, crossing her arms and eyeing Jim once more.

“They can be. But I’m trying to be better.” Jim had to acknowledge. To deny would only cause her walls to rise up and something told him to upset her would possibly make things harder with Oswald. This seemed to satisfy her, for the most part. Because they went from a slight standoff to being literally pulled to one of the booths where he had to sit across from her with a cup of coffee. She wanted to know more, about how her “good” boy was working with police and making things better in her mind.

So Jim tried to humour her to a point. Managed to eventually get her to stop trying for more detailed stories and ended up spending a good hour bragging about her son.

Jim learned that Oswald hated wearing clothing when he was a baby. Now he dressed so elegantly, she wasn’t wrong on that one.

Jim learned that Oswald used to be picked on until he stood up for himself. Jim could picture bigger bullies who used to bully him winding up either hurt or working for him on the schoolyard.

Jim learned that Oswald excelled in his classes. Made sense as well, the man was smart both street smart and academically smart.

“My son is so talented.” Gertrude happily preened. He was, just not talented like she wanted to imagine, Jim could imagine if she learns the truth it would shatter her heart. Perhaps knowing this is why he kept his mouth silent and kept going on with the conversation. Tried to not tell her how Oswald was working with him, or more importantly -

“How did you and my son meet.” That… shit…

“On a case.” What more could he say, that he was the guy who was supposed to shoot and kill her son? That he tried to chase Oswald out of Gotham? What could he say?! Jim opened his mouth again to try to fill in the blanks as best that he could when they were interrupted,

“Mother!”

Jim was never happier to see the shorter man in his life. Well, perhaps it was a toss-up between now and when he showed up declaring himself alive in the station.

Immediately Gertrude was practically showering her son with a happy greeting and telling him all about their conversation. Oswald seemed embarrassed especially when he found out that she was telling Jim stories from Oswald’s childhood. It took some juggling and some coaxing on Oswald’s part to get his mother to go with Gabe.

It seemed that Oswald was having a hard time collecting himself and trying to play off the stories Gertrude was telling Jim.

“Relax Oswald, mothers do that.” His certainly did when she was still alive. “It’s not like I’m going to go telling everyone.”

Oswald seemed immensely pleased and grateful for this.

 

* * *

 

 

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	6. A Learned Lesson for Bruce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested via Tumblr: Gotham drabble: The fight between Bruce and Jeremiah where Jeremiah falls into the ace chemical vat and survives. Idk I’m not great with ideas

Bruce found himself on his knees, body vibrating with energy all the while he found himself exhausted - defeated and being forced to face a situation he never anticipated no matter what words he yelled or promises made.

He never meant for anyone to die.

He never meant to fail in stopping someone falling into what he can only assume is a vat of acid or something horrible like that. He’s never seen containers that seemed so menacing before.

Like a promise of something far far worse than what the company had intended.

Kneeling there with the echo of surprised yell still echoing in his mind - Bruce wonders just what this sort of mistake will bring.

Jail? Arkham? Guilt?

He didn’t know and at this very moment, he wanted to lean on his parents for advice on what to do. He would trade his left arm to have Alfred come through those doors and find him, help him with what he should do next.

Because he honestly didn’t know what to do.

But he did make a promise - no one else will die by his hands. No one else no matter who or how horrible they are will lose their life because of his actions.

 

* * *

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on my iPad when I wrote this. And given that, I skipped past the fight because I haven’t seen the trailer yet and I haven’t seen glimpses of confrontation between these characters. I’m only on mid-Season 3.
> 
> I hope this is enjoyed all the same, sorry it’s not the actual fight. Just the aftermath…


	7. Date Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon on Tumblr: Valeska/Ecco off being a cute murder couple together and being the bane of Jim Gordon’s existence? (for the Drabble thing)

No Man’s Land – that was what Gotham City was now called. How fitting and how horrendous. The beautiful thing about it, was it was a free for all and soon very soon she was certain that Jeremiah’s dreams and visions will be fulfilled. In the meantime – she followed him without question and loyalty that has no end in sight. Would she call it love? No. What they had, was grander, bigger and not anything as banal as love.

The lives lost at their hands, inconsequential because they would not fit in the new Gotham. The Gotham of Jeremiah’s vision. Casualties of a grand awakening.

Today alone three more were lost – incapable of surviving to Jeremiah’s future.

They did provide entertainment for today. They served a purpose as they put a smile on his face as he stood above two as Ecco stood above the third. Their guns still hot. And both feeling alive and thriving in a chaotic situation. Fireworks may even make the situation almost – better.

Footsteps caused them both to turn.

Detective James Gordon.

He looked ruffled like he was running for a while now. All of that taking back seat as he took in what he saw in front of him no doubt. Jeremiah greeted him politely, gun still held and hers now pointed. He looked annoyed, tired and frustrated.

Ecco wondered – almost faintly – when was the last time he slept. It didn’t matter, he didn’t fit in the new world as far as she was concerned. Jeremiah may invite – if he proved worthy, but that was only if he proved himself loyal. But given the man in front of them – that will never happen.

So the detective was as good as dead.

She looked down, one of the three had a badge. It made their night better – more successful.

“Beautiful.” Jeremiah declared, faintly if only for her and if she were the kind of girl who smiled easy – she would smile for him. She gave him what she could all the same and it was accepted as he turned his attention to an annoyed and now angry detective.

It clearly wasn’t his night.

 

* * *

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who are these characters... lol I haven't met them yet. Still on Season 3.


	8. “I could kill you right now!” - Self Prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t help but give myself a prompt lol. I was bored. Hope you enjoy all the same. Gobblepot is there, but background.

Rage. That was the simplest emotion that Jim could recognize as he was forced to kneel before Gotham's self-made King – The Penguin. Pain radiated from the side of his face from being struck and struck hard with the clearly solidly built cane. It reminded Jim of a baton.

It started with a case. It always started with a case.

To bring down certain individuals that were out of Jim's reach, he came to Oswald. Like other times before this. Unfortunately this time things didn't go smoothly. This time people got hurt that wasn't supposed to get hurt. Enough to send angry ripples through Oswald's underbosses. It shook the tree you could say and Oswald had to calm the situation down and harshly, which means his hold won't be as secure for a month at least depending on how things go from here on out.

But that was manageable, this would only cause anger. Not rage.

No, a bullet grazed a child. Not just any child -

\- but Oswald's child. Martin, the mute watchful little boy who idolized and relied on Oswald. To make matters worse, the bullet came from Jim's gun. Which brought him to this point where he was kneeling in Oswald's office with a split lip and bruised face. His ribs were sore from the beating he received outback before he was brought in and forced to kneel.

Jim felt awful for it, no question about it. And perhaps that was why he didn't put up a fuss or fight when the first punch was thrown. It was definitely why he didn't move from his kneeling position.

Jim kept his gaze low.

Guilt.

“I could kill you right now!” Oswald spat, anger sharpening his every word. And Jim wanted to reply that he would have every right to. But in his defence, what was Oswald's son doing there?

Another man was dragged in, babbling and pleading. A caretaker assigned to guard the boy. He was forced to kneel beside Jim, Oswald asked him what happened and the man tried to defend himself and even going so far as trying to put the blame on Jim and the entire GCPD department. Jim couldn't bring himself to fight, his bullet made the boy bleed.

Guilt kept him silent.

Some would think that it was Oswald's yelling and lashing out in anger were moments to avoid and be wary of. No, Jim would have to say it was his silence. Much like the calm before the storm hits. And the room was silent now. Silent above them and before them. There was the slight sound of fabric moving behind them – Victor Zsasz.

_“You screwed up Jim – again.” Victor's voice still rung through Jim's mind. This time when Victor showed up at the GCPD to pick him up – Jim didn't fight._

Guilt had a way to pacify and bring Jim down so far that he was as meek as he possibly could be. But this was a kid and no matter who's kid. He got hurt and it was on Jim.

Jim was brought back to the present as Oswald moved away from them. But it wasn't enough to prepare Jim for the sudden movement from Oswald as the sound of a knife being unsheathed and plunged through the babbling man's throat before anyone could react. Jim could only look to his side and watch as blood spilled from the man's pleading mouth and the wound in his throat.

It was now that he was forced to look up by warm wet hands. Oswald was nearly nose to nose with him, a thumb pushing down on Jim's split lip. Despite the pain, he didn't dare move. He could see that some of that rage and anger was mollified, but not completely gone. There was a warning there. Silent but deadly. It was clear that Oswald could forgive Jim for nearly anything done to him, but to his boy – that was another question entirely. It told Jim enough that the boy was clearly in good hands.

“Don't ever – ever endanger my boy again James Gordon. I won't be so forgiving next time.” Oswald warned and with a kiss to his forehead he was released. Victor given the order to return Jim to the GCPD in one piece. Moving hurt but before he exited the office Jim stopped, ignoring the firm grip on his upper arm from Victor.

“I'm sorry.” What more could he say?

There was a nod, it was all he got as a response but Jim knew Oswald enough to understand that he knew that Jim was and perhaps that was why he was walking out of here on his two feet instead of being dragged in a body bag.


	9. Victor and Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied but not quite Victor/Jim in this one

Jim was quite certain now that either Victor’s employers didn’t feed the man enough or that Victor was a ravenous black hole. Because how else can he explain why the man seemed to always be searching for food. More importantly, why he keeps breaking into Jim’s apartment for food.

First, it was milk. But that time was to deliver a message on behalf of Don Falcone.

Second, it was in the middle of the night, where Victor opted to make himself a fried egg and toast. Waking Jim up from his sleep only to ask if he had bacon left over. Jim was so caught off guard that he ended up helping the man look for the bacon. It was only after eating a fried egg, toast and bacon himself that Jim realized that Victor broke into his apartment. Again. Victor didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by the sudden change in attitude as he chased his meal down with a glass of milk.

The third time Jim was in the hospital. It was lunch hour. Jim didn’t know how long he fell asleep before that, just that when he woke up he found Victor sitting in a chair staring blankly back at a glaring Harvey. All the while eating what was supposed to be Jim’s jello.

The fourth was Jim coming home from work to find the aftermath of someone making a sandwich. Without notes or anything, he knew that a good chance it was Victor. Cursing the man out, Jim set out to clean the mess. His irritation only softening when he found a second sandwich in the fridge with a note pinned to it with a sandwich sword saying:

_“Eat Jim, you had a long day.”_

The fifth time was again when Jim was coming home from work. Only this time Victor was still there and cooking something that smelled awfully good. Something to do with pasta.

“My Bubbie taught me how to make this.” Victor stated as a greeting before ordering Jim to go wash up and set the table. Jim who should be used to Victor’s appearance in his life now was still caught off guard enough that he found himself obeying. To be fair, it was an odd sight seeing Victor with his jacket removed and sleeves rolled up while stirring a pot of red pasta sauce. If Jim was any younger, he would be more bothered by the implications of each tally mark covering the man’s visible arms. But now all he did was wonder how soon could he eat.

It would be during dinner that he learns that Victor’s Bubbie loved to cook and told Victor that even if someone can’t travel the world, they could still explore it through cuisine. Jim didn’t know the implications of being told something so incredibly personal, but couldn’t bring himself to breaking that confidence by telling another soul.

It would be Nikita, one of Victor’s girls that filled Jim on the reason for Victor’s constant in and out of his life.

“He likes you.” It was such an innocent statement, but it left Jim feeling a bit warmer. Instinctively he knew just because Victor liked him, didn’t mean the man won’t kill him if ordered to. But he might purposely make it sporty so Jim could have a fair chance. For Victor, that seemed to be a declaration in itself.

 

* * *

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still sick. Still trying to figure out how to get chapter 3 of my Victor/Jim story done.


	10. Five Marks

There were five marks that belonged on Victor's body, but five he could not bring himself to put there. 

Despite how much Victor loved to kill, how he made an art out of it and made it his very life's work. There were five lives he himself could not take. Be it because their eyes, their circumstances or they were in the right place at the right time. 

And most importantly, none ordered dead by Don Falcone. 

So, instead, he took each of them and fashioned them into killers. Gave them the confidence they would need and they took that and grew into lethal women to be feared and respected. 

But only a few will truly know or understand just what these women mean. 

They were Victor's marks, his five unclaimed tally marks, they were Victor's girls.


	11. “You should have been scared of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can’t seem to get my mind together to write the next chapter for Killers with a Crush, so I decided to work my mind anyway by writing a drabble from an unfortunate OC named Big Jo’s POV. Put it under a keep reading so it doesn’t clog up anyone’s dashboard.

They’ve seen them come, hell, they’ve been here when Don Falcone was at his peak before his final retirement to the countryside. When the clash with Sal Maroni finally happened and was finally finished. Things back then, they were the good days. They were the days when honest criminals can make an honest living.

The days before the freaks.

With Gotham slowly rebuilding, it looked like things were going to go back to normal. The sighting of freaks and abnormality’s were considerably lower than they were before that clown wannabe blew the bridges. So Big Jo as he was normally referred to figured they could start rebuilding as well.

Charging small businesses, making a name for themselves. Their number growing by the week. At this point, Big Jo had grandeur dreams of being a Don himself. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?

Unfortunately, it all came to a crashing end.

And worse, he should have seen it coming. Because he saw just how much trouble a cripple could cause.

The day started like this:

Tommy seemed shaken, not unusual given the big guy was the most superstitious guy you can meet. Wouldn’t even walk underneath a ladder. Yet today he said he spilled salt and broke a mirror.

Big Jo joked about it, did what he could do to cheer the guy up. It was the least he could do, this was one of his main enforcers. But Tommy didn’t want to go out to collect the monthly fee’s. It took Big Jo getting angry finally. But Tommy left.

Tommy didn’t stay gone though, an hour later he returned. It normally takes three hours. So this was unusual. He came back whiter than a ghost. He said one thing.

“He says we have until the end of the day to leave, sir.” Tommy spoke, his words coming quick and hurried as he muttered about something else. Something about this guy’s speaking patterns. Odd like, like it was learned from a book instead of on the street like normal.

“Who? Did you tell him that we’re the bosses here? That we’re the ones who decide who stays and who goes.” Big Jo asked, watching as the man paced a bit before stopping and starred right at Big Jo. 

Eventually, he did get an answer.

The Penguin.

His night, however, it went more like this:

Big Jo had time to think. He saw little sign of freaks. And the streets seemed eerily quiet. But Big Jo who wanted to be a feared and respected Don one day made the decision to fight for what he wants. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He had his men armed. He had his men waiting and he himself waited. Nobody slept much that night. By next morning Big Jo cracked jokes to liven the crew. Apparently, the birdbrain didn’t have the balls to show up and enforce his warning.

Or so he thought.

Big Jo didn’t have time to have his men duck for cover as the glass shattered with the sound of machine guns being fired. Nobody had time to fire back. And when it was finally finished, and the silence was all that he noticed. His stomach and chest feeling wet and the pain was something words can never describe.

He’s been shot, more than once. Looking over he saw Tommy lying dead, eyes still open. He grew up with Tommy. It was a sad sight to see him like that.

The door opened and uneven steps with the steady click of a cane could be heard.

Big Jo couldn’t move off the ground, couldn’t even sit upright. But he had a good view. Impeccable, professional and holding a cold ruthless sort of confidence that it made it all more understandable on why Don’s fell to this man.

“Oh dear, truly, you should have taken my offer. You could have left with your earnings, your men, and you could have set up shop somewhere else. Somewhere other than Gotham. And I out of my better nature would have let bygones be bygones.” The man spoke, each word pronounced just right. Each word seemingly purposely picked.

“Gthms mine. My home. We weren’t afraid of you.” Big Jo said if this was going to be his last words. Might as well go out with some bravado. He was a dead man anyway, he knew that by looking into those cold eyes. It was as though Death himself walked right on in here.

The man – The Penguin only smiled and corrected, “You should have been scared of me.” After all, he all but brought the old days to a crashing end and took over the remains. 

A final cold smile and a bullet to his head was the only farewell’s he received after that.


	12. I'm yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gobblepot - smut
> 
> This one is a gift to the fantastic writer: greenfairy13

Oswald Cobblepot – better known to most these days as The Penguin. If others were to describe him it would be cunning and brutal. And it would be accurate. Because Oswald took things incredibly serious, especially when concerning what's his. His money. His property. His territory. His men. His weapons. Any move on any of it, repercussions were swift and true to form. Brutal.

But he also took personal matters seriously as well. His dog, named after a failed could have been. His son, orphan he may be but a Cobblepot all the same. And least, but not last, his detective turned captain.

Tonight his attention would be spent on his captain. Brought in by a foolish Underboss vying for praise without knowing just what Jim Gordon actually meant to him. Roughed up and bruised, handcuffed with his own cuffs. Apparently, Jim was investigating a murder that involved this Underboss.

With everyone excused and dismissed, the Underboss not looking so confident now in his bid for praise and favour as he left as well. But they will be dealt with later, right now Oswald had one focus. His rather bullheaded captain who was now finally on his feet.

“Mind taking the cuffs off?” Jim asked, turning enough to show Oswald he's handcuffed. With a grin, Oswald decided against that, instead, he leaned back. It was nice to see the captain handcuffed for once. Normally it was Oswald or one of his men handcuffed and being led away to Arkham or Blackgate.

A raised eyebrow and a huff told him that Jim caught on to Oswald's amusement.

However, it became clear to both of them that Oswald had something entirely different on the mind. And with a grin and a partial shrug, he wasn't getting any disagreement from Jim. So with an order, low and confident Oswald told Jim to come to him and felt a shiver go through him at the easy obedience.

Sometimes words couldn't describe how powerful you can feel when you willingly have someone like Jim Gordon falling to their knees for you or baring their throat knowing just what you could do with a sharp blade and trusting you not to. It was near enough to have Oswald feeling heady with need, enough to push him forward in his seat the second Jim was on his knees once more in front of him.

The kiss was more hunger and need than loving and affectionate. And returned with an equal amount of hunger. With one hand in use to hold Jim in place, his other went to work to undo Jim's shirt and push it off his shoulders leaving it and his jacket to hang off of handcuffed wrists.

“Please.” A murmured plea from Jim was enough to have Oswald feeling just a bit too hot for his own well-tailored suit. But there was no time to tend to that. Licking lightly at the dried blood from a cut lip Oswald loosened Jim's pants before sitting back and letting Jim get to his feet albeit unsteadily.

It was clear that Jim too was in need, given the flush that spread through his body and the rather telling tent in loosened pants.

With a smirk, Oswald managed to help Jim climb into his lap the moment pants were dropped to his ankles. Kept in place only by Jim's shoes.

“ _The_ Captain Jim Gordon, handcuffed and in my lap.” Oswald said before practically purring out, “What a lovely sight this makes.”

There was something to be said about having a nearly naked man in your lap all the while you were dressed in a finely tailored suite. But it clearly did things for the both of them if how Jim was moving into every touch Oswald gives and every shift Oswald makes. His suit would need some professional care, but that would be a small price to pay.

Reclaiming Jim's lips hungrily Oswald used one hand to hold him in place while his second landed on Jim's hip. With a plea against Oswald's lips, he caved just enough. Undoing his own jacket and releasing himself from his own pants, Oswald encouraged Jim to move. Something he didn't need to do twice as Jim fidgeted for a moment before finding a rhythm they both could move to.

Oswald's one arm now holding Jim around the waist to keep the man as close as possible, his second now being used to gain leverage in the seat so he could participate with the same hunger and need as the man who managed to bury his face and pant against Oswald's neck. The only indication that either was getting close was through the desperation of their movements.

Oddly it was Jim who came first this time, clearly, this new way of losing themselves in each other did things for the good captain. But then, the loss of control could be something you could lose yourself in easily enough. When done right.

However, Oswald was still in need and aching for his own release decided to push Jim to his knees before him. Making it clear what he wanted, but given the fact that he wasn't a complete monster, he did give Jim an out. When it wasn't taken, Oswald took a hand full of Jim's hair and immediately put Jim's mouth to work. It didn't take him long, clearly, Jim wasn't the only one affected by the new way they lost themselves.

Heady from power and pleasure, Oswald couldn't help but ask, “Whose are you?”

A responding shiver and leaning into Oswald's grip on his hair Jim answered, “I'm yours.”

Oswald didn't hesitate to pull him forward into another hungry and needy kiss, one that was returned with an equal amount of hunger. Only after a few minutes did it shift from hungry to affectionate.

Exploring the new ways to explore each other was definitely on the list of things to do, but for now, Oswald was satisfied as he sat near the edge of his chair with one Jim Gordon kneeling between his legs.

 

* * *

 

 

Come say hi: [justsimplymeagain](http://justsimplymeagain.tumblr.com/) 


	13. Chapter 13

_“Did you catch him one night, washing the blood from his hands?”_

Those words, spoken by that awful man stayed with her well into the night. Well after her baby boy had lied to her face.

You see, Gertrud may have a way to look at the world and may have a way to react to that very world. But she wasn’t featherbrained. There were reasons why you don’t trust the GCPD. There were reasons why you don’t go out at night.

She wasn’t as flighty as some would see her as.

So when that awful man spoke those words, hurt her and said those awful things it only acted as a reminder. She knows her baby boy is capable of awful things. She knows that those awful things often had red running down the drain.

But Oswald was a good boy too. Her good boy and she would love him until her dying breath because she was his Mother. And that was what Mothers do. Love their children no matter what.

And it would be this that allowed her to get up the next morning and embrace her baby boy and go on with life.


	14. Martin's Voice

There were many ways people often viewed him as; Martin the orphan boy, Martin the freak, Martin the quiet little weird-o and sometimes, Martin the mute. Only, he wasn't mute. He just never felt a need to speak, he would much rather write with his childish writing what he wanted people to know. 

His life as an orphan wasn't a happy one, he was picked on and bullied and so incredibly alone. That was until he met the man who would become a future father figure – Oswald Cobblepot. Oswald took him in, paid for his education and speech therapy. 

Martin was learning American Sign Language and even better, he was learning it with Oswald at home now that everything was okay again in Gotham. Martin didn't know everything, couldn't even understand everything. He was just happy to be somewhere he could call home and didn't have to share it with other kids. 

Martin knew that Oswald had people who wanted to hurt him. It was enough to make Martin worry because he didn't want to go back to the Orphanage. He liked it here. He liked the cookies Olga made. He liked playing ball with Edward. He liked having breakfast and supper with Oswald. He liked to hear stories about a woman that could have become a Grandmother if she had lived. He even liked when the detective visited. 

It would be this that would have him picking up a gun one day. One that might have been dropped in a struggle. It would be seeing Oswald on the ground, angry and with nothing to protect himself with that would have Martin pointing the gun at the angry man standing above Oswald. Seeing someone who took him in and protected him like that was the only thing that kept his hand steady despite how hard his heart was beating. 

“Martin!” Oswald's voice rang out, surprise and shock at seeing Martin home early from school. The angry man spun around and Oswald seemed more panicked now that the angry man's attention was now on Martin. 

“Kid, give me the gun. Your old man and I were just talking.” The man tried. Martin shook his head no and he remembered what Oswald had shown him regarding a gun. How to take the safety off. 

“Kid.” He was warned by the angry man. 

Martin shook his head one more time. And with a soft voice that no one knew he had, he said, “Bang.” And pulled the trigger. It hit the man in the chest and Martin was shocked by how loud it was and how the gun felt in his hand as it gone off. Shocked enough that he dropped it. The angry man wasn't dead, but he fell down. Hurt. 

And Martin felt a rush of happiness because the angry man who had Oswald on the ground was hurt. From there Oswald seemed to have taken control, taking a knife from his cane and driving it into the angry man's head. 

Nothing was said as Oswald got to his feet and rushed Martin out of the room with him as he contacted some of his workers. Nothing was said later when things calmed down and the office was cleaned up and Oswald was finished yelling at everyone. 

It would only be when Martin was being tucked into bed that Oswald asked him, “You can talk?” 

Martin shook his head no. Wrote on his pad that he couldn't. He was sorry. But putting words together verbally was hard and he would much rather write or sign them. He was sorry. 

As Martin grows up, the only time anyone would hear his voice was when he was announcing what he was going to do; bang, stab, burn.


	15. Café's and Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for HistoryISculture here on AO3, I hope it's enjoyable.

Tears, that was what he noticed first was her tears. Tears that were barely held back, it was this that had any idea of talking to her as an informant put aside. Instead, Jim invited the young streetwise Selina Kyle out for lunch in a small café.

“You okay?” He asked her, she was one of the kids he seemed to have taken a liking to or at least taken more of care towards.

Of course, instead of answering she put on the tough act instead or she would start sassing him off. It was normal, and Jim would give it right back to her or give her one of his disapproval expressions.

Today it was a disapproval expression.

“Geez, sorry for the attitude Dad.” It was most likely meant as sarcasm and a jab. Not serious and given how she stiffened, it was enough to tell Jim that it wasn’t intentional.

She looked like she wanted to escape, grab what she could for the food and run.

“Don’t think I’m that old yet. See, not even a grey hair yet.” Jim joked, putting himself on the line to be teased. Let her focus on that instead of the slip-up. She seemed to be thankful because she kindly reminded him that that was what hair dye was for.

Of course, Jim kept the joke going for a bit until the rest of their lunch was brought. They let things go to quiet, and Jim had to note that she was one of the few people who didn’t seem to carry a heavy silence with her. Even Bruce had a heavy silence with him.

It won’t be until after they leave the café and walk a block back to one of her usual hang out areas that she caved, those tears were threatening to spill out.

“Bruce and I got into a fight…” Ah, so that was it. Young love and a couple’s argument. Jim had a few of those in his time with his old girlfriends, with Barbara and with Lee. It was just a part of relationships, you learn to get past those arguments and you learn to grow because of them.

Jim offered to talk about it if she wanted. She initially shook her head no. But even that she relented as soon as they got to their final destination. Jim ended up sitting on the steps with her and just talking her through things as best that he could. He never had a kid himself, and maybe this would be the closest he would ever get to have a conversation like this one.

Jim tried to give her advice as best that he could. Going so far as wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a partial hug. Something she stiffened at first but loosened up soon enough. It was this that let her cry, and to Jim it really made her look her age to see her like this and see her going through something like this.

It took about an hour to talk her through this and reassure her as best that he could. He would end up getting in trouble when he gets back to GCPD headquarters, but some things couldn’t be helped.

It would be a week later that he spots Bruce with Selina once more and finds a note in his apartment.

_“You’d make a good Dad one day. Thanks for the talk.”_


End file.
